


Condemnation

by Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Huddling For Warmth, Intervention, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Psychology, Rehabilitation, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Following a particularly scary episode in Erestor's long history of drug use, life changes abruptly at the Cottage of Lost Play.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to welcome you all, dear readers, by saying that I hate this title - but this story has lingered since 2015 with the working title of "Erestor Rehab Story", which, while great for summary purposes, sucks as a title. I don't really like this one, either, so if anyone has a recommendation, I am happy to consider it. However, this is a rather larger puzzle piece to neglect posting with all of the before and after that is swarming about, so please ignore the title at the moment and enjoy, darlings.

"I am so tired," whispered Faelion to no one in particular. He slumped in a chair and watched his uncle chatter with one of the mongers about the fish shipment that had come in the night before. “I think I deserve some wine. Or champagne. Maybe both,” he said to his uncle, who was sitting across the table from him.

“You have a show tomorrow,” reminded Duilin. “No alcohol. No one really needs alcohol.”

“I know that.” Faelion yawned and stretched his arms across the table and put his head down.

“Brat.” Duilin flicked his fingers against Faelion’s ear until he sat up again. “We will leave soon.”

“Not soon enough,” he grumbled as he watched Salgant pick out several loaves of bread from the baker. The weather on the island was unpredictable, and the markets were found indoors except in the summertime. There were usually six to ten vendors in an open building, and so it was very much like any small market, except with walls, doors, and windows. From where they sat, another building was visible - this one specializing in fine fabrics and clothing. “Can I go look over there while Uncle Salgant finishes here?”

Duilin looked to where his partner was picking over fruit cakes to find the densest of the lot. “I will come with you. Let me tell him where we are going.”

\---

Erestor wiped his nose and rubbed under it for a moment. He sniffed a bit and then blinked his eyes. Something seemed off. He rechecked the small wooden plate that he used to snort the powder from, though nothing seemed wrong. Then he saw a droplet fall and splatter on the plate. Bright red liquid plopped onto the plate, again and again. Erestor sniffled and rubbed his nose again, and now when he looked at his hand he saw the same color red smeared across it. 

His arm suddenly went numb, and the box slid away and onto the floor as he collapsed. It was hard to tell how long he was on the floor, but he felt heavy, and it was hard to breathe. He was barely aware of Glorfindel standing before him, or when he had arrived, and of the sensation of being patted on the face. 

In reality, Glorfindel repeatedly slapped Erestor's cheek relatively hard. "Ress? Ress, look at me!" He glanced up at Beleg in a panic. "I think he had too much."

"How long has he been here?" asked Beleg.

"It has to be most of the afternoon. I left him here before lunch," said Fingon, who had just entered the great room of the Cottage of Lost Play. He picked up the box and set it onto the table nearby. "Can he hear you? He seems to be in some sort of catatonic state, Glorfindel."

"We should get a healer," insisted Beleg. "I will -- I -- " He motioned to Fingon and then he hurried from the room with the intent of going down the road to find the healer if he could. Glorfindel still tried to gain Erestor's attention. 

Fingon knelt down and placed the back of his hand against Erestor’s forehead. “He is burning up. His pulse is fast and irregular,” he added after he placed two fingers against the side of Erestor’s neck. Erestor’s eyes were glazed over and stared off, pupils dilated, blood still dripping slowly from his nose. The muscles in Erestor’s arms and legs engaged without explanation, and his limbs jerked and twitched on their own accord. Fingon stood up and took a deep breath before he went to the kitchen and brought back a cloth and some water. “Is he still breathing?” he asked as he joined Glorfindel on the floor again, for now Erestor’s body was limp and his eyelids drooped.

"He is, but I have no idea if he is just in a trance or if something else worse is going on. I have not seen him like this before." Glorfindel picked up the cloth and dampened it. He used it to wipe at Erestor's brow. “What do I do, Fingon?” he asked as his hands trembled.

Fingon shook his head and looked at the doorway. “Pray that Beleg finds a healer who knows what to do,” he said.

\---

“Is anyone here trained as a healer?” Beleg knew that they were too far from any of the healers or the apothecary to find someone with certainty, so he went to the places he knew would have the most people and the best chance of accidental success. So far, he had been to three other market stalls, but was met only with concerned looks and shakes of the head. He continued his search regardless, and now, amid shelves of fur-lined boots and fancy feathered caps, an arm was lifted and an uncertain voice spoke.

“I have little practical experience, but I have been trained in herbology and anatomy, as well as psychology and physiology.” Faelion set down a pair of leather gloves he had been admiring. “I do not have any tools with me, but I can certainly try to help.”

Beleg nodded. “We have an emergency at the Cottage of Lost Play,” he explained, and near to the vicinity another much taller ellon stepped out from behind a mirrored wall. “Lord Duilin,” recognized Beleg, and he hastily bowed before he addressed the youth again. “Your assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

Duilin hurried around Faelion to reach Beleg first. “Who?” he hissed as Faelion approached in confusion.

“Erestor,” replied Beleg in a low voice. “He…”

“I think I know.” Duilin’s concern was obvious, as was his disgust.

Beleg tilted his head at Faelion. “Is he…?”

“My nephew.” Duilin set his jaw and stared at Beleg. “I would say no to this, had you not been the one to ask,” he said, which only caused Faelion to appear more confused.

“Noted,” said Beleg. “We must hurry, though.”

Duilin turned to Faelion. “I know this man. We once served the same King, in a time long lost. He is a good man, and a friend. I will tell your Uncle what is going on and join you as soon as I can. Go,” he said insistently. “You may not have much time.”

\---

"Erestor! Wake up!" He patted his cheek again several times before he drew back his arm and slapped Erstor across the face. This had the desired effect, though it was quite delayed, but Erestor did blink and look at Glorfindel, sort of. "Erestor. Erestor, what day is it today."

"Day?" Erestor glanced around slowly, saw that Fingon hovered over him as well, and then looked into Glorfindel's eyes. "What are we doing here?"

"We live here," said Glorfindel. He trembled a little now that the initial shock of what he and the others had walked into subsided. "Erestor, I was-- you never do that do me again!" he shouted suddenly.

Erestor blinked and tried to sit up. "Do... do what?" He struggled to move, and Fingon shifted to cradle him so that his head and shoulders were elevated.

Glorfindel looked at the table where the box was left. "This. This fucking drug. No more," he declared as he picked up the box. He was about to fling it into the fire when he realized he really had no idea quite what was in the box. Instead, he lowered it down and put it onto where Erestor's lap would be if he could sit up properly. "I want you to make a decision," he said. "Do you want me, or do you want these drugs?"

Erestor looked down numbly. "What did -- what did I do?" He reached up and wiped at his nose. Blood was crusted on his face where it had dripped down from his nostril and covered part of his lip while he was in his stupor. "What happened?" he asked as Fingon took the damp cloth and tried to wipe away the blood.

"I thought perhaps you would know," suggested Glorfindel. "I think we can both guess," he said as he fumbled with the latch on the box. "This has to end, Erestor. Am I ever going to be enough for you?" He growled and threw the box down on the floor. A hinge broke, and white powder spilled out. 

Beleg suddenly rushed into the room with Faelion on his heels. “I found a healer,” he declared.

Glorfindel turned and froze.

“Excuse me,” said Faelion as he dodged around Glorfindel and joined Fingon on the floor. “How long has he been like this?”

As Fingon answered questions, Glorfindel stumbled back to sit down on one of the chairs. He stared at Faelion as he worked to stabilize Erestor, and only when Duilin entered the cottage did Glorfindel speak again. Duilin sat down beside Glorfindel without any pleasantries, and without even making eyecontact. “We do not want him to know,” he said quietly so that Faelion would not hear. “We told him nothing.”

“You knew he was back when you were with us trying to fix that school,” realized Glorfindel.

Duilin nodded. “He has been here. We never thought either of you would spend a significant amount of time on the island for it to be an issue. When you moved here, Salgant and I did, too. To guard him. We, and his parents, want him to have a normal life - something he never had in Gondolin. Something he will not achieve if he knows what happened to him.”

“He will know one day,” said Glorfindel hopefully.

“He was too young when he died. He will never regain those memories - and that is for the best,” said Duilin. “That was a difficult decision for us, but it is a final decision. I want you and Erestor - if he even remembers any of this - to respect that.”

Glorfindel looked back to where the others were aiding Faelion with Erestor. “I will not say a word to him,” said Glorfindel finally, “but if he comes to me, I am not going to lie to him, either.”

Duilin stood up when it seemed that Faelion was giving the others directions on what to do now that Erestor was breathing normally again and aware of his surroundings. “I almost wish we would have arrived too late,” he said so that only Glorfindel could hear. “Then, I would have told him about you.” Duilin took a moment to say a few words to Beleg and Fingon, completely ignored Erestor, and left with Faelion, offering a final warning look to Glorfindel on his way out.


	2. Chapter 2

Faelion attempted to ignore what he was hearing outside of the bathing chamber. All morning, there had been awkward looks and even more awkward smiles. There was very little discussion - except when his Uncles thought he was not listening, and so he tried not to listen as much as possible. It unnerved him, and raised questions he preferred not to ponder.

The kitchen was on the other side of the room that Faelion was in, so it was hard to miss some of the noises and conversation. Like the sound of Salgant cracking another egg into the bowl that already contained four of them.

"Give it time. No need to rush. He's still a boy, really," whispered Duilin. He was perched on the counter where Salgant was preparing food. "Do you think we are making the right decision?" he asked as soon as splashing was heard on the other side of the door.

"Which decision are you talking about?" Salgant asked.

"Not telling him anything," replied Duilin. "It seems cruel, the more I think about it. For purposes of a normal childhood, he needed it. We needed to free him of what happened the first time around. Your sister was more accepting of who he was and how he was. He has had a good life here. Now, I think pulling him away and back to Tirion, not telling him what his connections are, and pretending that he has nothing to do with Gondolin--"

"If we tell him about Gondolin, it could break him. It might cause him to distrust us. I look now at a very happy, healthy soul."

"And what about Glorfindel?" hissed Duilin.

"What about Glorfindel?" huffed Salgant. "Glorfindel and Erestor are perfectly happy as they are."

"Did you miss everything I told you last night?" Duilin hopped off of the counter and walked up beside Salgant. There were now a dozen eggs in the bowl, and Duilin refrained from shaking his head at it. 

“You told me - you and Faelion went to the Cottage of Lost Play, and Erestor almost died from those drugs he stuffs up his nose, and Faelion saved him. For now,” grumbled Salgant.

"Not where we were or why we were there, but how Glorfindel was acting." He realized from the blank stare he was being given that Salgant did not recall or was perhaps half-asleep. "Well, then. You might want to sit down."

"Why? What did you do, go and introduce him to-- oh, lords of the valar and ladies of the blessed realm, you did!" Salgant pushed the bowl to the side, appetite momentarily lost. "What were you thinking?"

“Stop the dramatics. I did no such thing. They were there, but no one uttered anyone’s name.” Duilin crossed his arms over his chest. “You should have seen the look of longing on Glorfindel’s face. You must have noticed when we were all helping to rebuild Sarati School that Glorfindel and Erestor were having arguments and disagreements. I do not think things have improved.”

“Why? What happened while you were there?” asked Salgant.

“When Faelion was working on Erestor, Glorfindel was sitting in a chair across the room. Beleg and Fingon were tending to him, not Glorfindel.”

“Interesting.” Salgant beat the eggs in the bowl. "Do you think he knows anything?"

"Who, Faelion? I doubt it. He has not been able to remember anything else. This should be no different. Speaking of..." Duilin walked to the door of the bathing chamber.

Slowly, Faelion washed his hair, trying to make it sound as if he was not eavesdropping, when he really was. A knock came on the door and Duilin called out, "Are you taking the dog for a walk this morning or should I?"

Faelion held his breath and said nothing. He splashed his foot in the water a little to make it sound as if he was clearly bathing and could not hear them.

"What do you want for breakfast?" came Salgant's voice. There was a pause before he called out, "Did you want your usual toast and fruit or do you want me to surprise you?"

Faelion splashed his foot more and then rinsed his hair so that he truly would not be able to hear them. There were some warbled words he somewhat made out as a discussion about the dog between his uncles, and then the sound of them making their way back to what they were doing. Faelion finished, and grabbed the towel that was hanging beside him on the wall. He took his time as he dried his hair and wiped away the water on his body and then on the floor. Lost in thought, he did not notice the door open. Duilin entered and closed the door audibly so as not to entirely shock his nephew. "I was wondering how you were feeling this morning," he said as he leaned against the wall and studied Faelion.

Faelion rubbed the towel over his leg to collect up the errant drops of water. "I was thinking about that fellow last night," he said. He did not look up. He did not want to see his uncle's reaction. "It is rather sad, I think, to see someone like that. I trained for things like that, but it is something entirely different to actually see it. It was unnerving. I mean, I guess I thought when it happened it would not be so obvious - so far along," he corrected. "I felt bad for his family. Were those his brothers?" he asked cautiously.

"No, they... they might have been?" Duilin cleared his throat to change the topic. "I think this is a clear indication on why it is bad to use drugs of any sort for recreation. You know this, I am sure, but I think it stands repetition. They are dangerous and addictive and they can cause a lot of problems."

"I hope they can get him the help he needs," remarked Faelion. "I thought about offering to help, but I do not know if I have enough knowledge. And he seemed to be a dire case." Faelion hung the towel up and took his robe from the peg. "I want to stop by and check up on him, though. I feel like he is still my patient, at least until they find an expert to help them," said Faelion.

Duilin hesitated, but then nodded. "We can stop by after the show this evening. Breakfast is ready," he added. “I think Salgant overdid it, as usual. Oh, and I left something for you in the dining room,” he said before he left.

Faelion smiled, but once his uncle was gone, he chewed at his lip as he dressed enough to walk around the house. He walked from the washroom, with shirt grabbed as an afterthought, through the kitchen and into the smaller side room adjoining it. This room was meant as a smoke room, perhaps, with the two large windows that were in it facing to the north, but there was only a small sofa and a counter with various glasses for drinks. A bit of a small entertainment room perhaps, never meant to host large parties. They had taken to using it for breakfast, and dining out for the rest of their meals. The house itself was a temporary residence - just another place to live until time came to move to the next city for the next show.

Faelion paused when he entered the room, his shirt still in his hands. He draped it over his shoulder as he looked at what was on the counter. "Is this what I think it is?" he asked with a grin as he picked up the bottle. "Oh, it is," he said with a smile as his uncle looked on, arms folded over his chest. 

"Just a little for later," Duilin said as Faelion examined the bottle. "That is chardonnay. It was suggested by the vinter I spoke with last night. Since this is our final week in the house, and we will be traveling over your begetting day, I thought you deserved it. You have done a fantastic job with the shows and you have earned a little break from that, I think."

"We still have another show on Monday," Faelion reminded his uncle.

"Of course, but there is hardly enough in there to get you drunk. Even if you drank the whole thing." Duilin nodded to Salgant as he passed by on his way back to the kitchen to retrieve a plate heaping with pancakes. "If you like it, we can pick up another bottle or two to celebrate your majority."

Faelion examined the shelf and tapped a finger along each of the glasses that were set out. "Four glasses?" he asked.

Duilin nodded. "Yes. I thought maybe you would like to invite that violinist you keep flirting with to have dinner with us tonight, and then to come back here for dessert."

Faelion tried not to show his distaste at this suggestion, but his hand moved away from the glasses and he clutched his shirt as he walked out of the room and back to the kitchen, where Salgant was cooking two massive skillets of eggs. Duilin followed. "Sorry, I thought you were getting along quite well with him," he apologized.

"I thought I was, too," admitted Faelion. "However, as it turns out, the violinist has a companion - a female companion," he added quickly as it seemed his uncle might make some comment that there was always hope for young love. "She is very nice and he seems to be quite smitten with her, and I think it is best that I just leave it all be. Besides," he added, "I think he was just trying to be nice to me anyhow."

"Oh, come now," began Salgant, but Duilin shushed him.

"It is fine," said Duilin. "We can... just have a good time here on our own," he suggested.

Faelion nodded. “I am going to take the dog for a walk before breakfast,” he said as he walked away and pulled the dark blue silk shirt over his head. Salgant sighed as he heard Faelion call the dog to him and leave the house. "Well, that might have gone better," Salgant said as Duilin took plates and silverware out to the dining room. 

“It could have been worse,” Duilin called back.


	3. Chapter 3

On the stage, Faelion was more than a star. He was phenomenal. No one could dispute that while he might not have been the best dancer or the best singer or the best musician, overall he was the best performer many of them had ever seen. He kept the audience focused upon him in anticipation of the next scene every time he left the stage.

Salgant was in the orchestra and Duilin kept watch from backstage. It was an amazing performance, and while there was yet one more scheduled in two days, this was the last of the evening shows before they moved on to the next venue. The house was nearly full, and the vendors at the door had run out of flowers to sell before the performance even started.

There were two members of the audience yet unseen by Duilin, else he certainly would have confronted them. Once Erestor was tended to the previous night, Glorfindel revealed his connection to the young healer who had been accompanied by Duilin. His indecisiveness on how to proceed led Fingon to spend the next morning inquiring with those at the market where Beleg encountered Duilin and his nephew as to their whereabouts, and to track down any additional information he could find. 

“Never underestimate the tenacity of a librarian,” remarked Beleg when Fingon returned to the cottage with the last two tickets for the evening performance of ‘Tinnu Tawar’. Erestor was still recovering, and so Beleg offered to stay at the cottage and keep watch while Glorfindel and Fingon went to the play. 

On the way there, Fingon shared with Glorfindel what he had learned. Faelion had been performing since he was very young, partially on account of his uncle’s connections, and mostly because of his talents on stage. The current show was nearly at the end of its run. Faelion had secured a spot at Haven School of the Arts where Finrod was Headmaster, but from what Fingon could find out, it had seemed that Faelion had declined. “Imagine how things would have been if we were still there,” remarked Fingon as they walked briskly to the theatre.

Glorfindel frowned. “What do you want to wager the only reason he was considering going there is because Salgant and Duilin know that we would likely not be back there for a very long time, and it would get Faelion off of the island and away from us?”

They arrived just as the doors were closing, and found their seats in the crowded theatre just as the curtain rose. Faelion had the lead role, and spent most of the first act on stage. Glorfindel held his breath every time Faelion looked out into the audience, not sure whether or not he could be seen by the youthful elf, or if he would even be recognized. "How old do you think he is right now?" he asked during the intermission.

Fingon shrugged and tucked his legs to the side so that someone could leave the row. "All I know is that he was young enough to get into the school. From what I learned, Finrod really wanted him there, too, but then there was this opportunity for him to star in this play and he decided to be in this production instead. It is a little surprising. He could be in plays later. He has all the time in the world for that. He was assured a spot in the school if he had gone this semester. Finrod is very disappointed, from what others were saying."

Glorfindel swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. "Do you know who he is?" he asked.

"I know that he is related to Salgant. Nephew. And I know the rest of what I told you," said Fingon.

"Well, yes. I meant, do you know who he was before?"

"Before what?" asked Fingon blankly.

"He was in Gondolin."

"Oh." Fingon looked at the drawn curtain at the front of the room and tilted his head. “Salgant never said anything about that. I guess I should have realized that from the way he talked about things."

"Who, Faelion?" Glorfindel found his stomach fluttered just to say the name aloud.

"No, Salgant. He and Duilin said... you knew him," said Fingon somewhat accusingly.

"I did. I knew him well." Glorfindel shook his head. “Wait, did you just go and talk to Salgant and Duilin to find out about Faelion?”

“It was the fastest and most logical way to do so,” admitted Fingon. “How else do you think I got the tickets? Anyhow, and maybe I should not say this, but they were far less concerned about you. I had to promise that Erestor would not come along if they gave the tickets to me. I suspect you must know why.”

Glorfindel took a deep breath. "Perhaps we can get some air before the next act," he suggested, already on his feet. Fingon followed after and soon they were outside in the moonlight. "Faelion and I were lovers," said Glorfindel, not waiting to explain anything before the reveal.

"I was starting to wonder," admitted Fingon. "When did that happen?"

"A little before the war, and a little after. A lot after, actually," he said. "This is... I think I knew that some day this was going to happen but I did not expect it to happen so suddenly. Not like this. Fingon, what am I going to do?"

"Erestor does not know about him, then," guessed Finogn.

"Oh, no, he knows. He actually knows more than he thinks he knows,” said Glorfindel.

"I have no idea what that means, but it sounds cryptic,” said Fingon, “so I am going to need you to spell that out for me.”

"It means... It means things are really complicated," said Glorfindel. "Extremely complicated. I have no idea how I can ever explain it all before the curtain goes back up. Or if I should. I suppose... maybe Faelion will never remember anything," he realized suddenly. It hit him like a brick, and he dropped down hard on the bench outside of the theatre. "Oh, no. I never considered that before. He may never know me again. He might never remember anything." Glorfindel took a staggering breath. "If he never remembers it, and Erestor never remembers it, then it is as if it never happened! Fingon, what should I do? What can I do?"

"I am just as lost as you. Probably more," admitted Fingon. He bit his lip. "Perhaps I should not have brought you here," he realized suddenly. "I guess we did not realize how this could affect you. I was also not aware of the history you had with him. Is there anything that I can do to help you?" asked Fignon. “I think all I did today was make something worse.”

"Let me tell Erestor," begged Glorfindel as the call came for people to enter the theatre again. “He was pretty stunned yesterday, so I doubt he noticed who was there. I do not want him to find out from Salgant or anyone else. I want him to learn from me that Faelion is back. It is important to me.”

 

“Faelion was more than just a lover,” realized Fingon.

Glorfindel swallowed hard. “Yes. He was my husband. He died in my arms.” Glorfindel ran his hand back through his hair. “Erestor never knew either of those facts.”

Fingon let out a low whistle. “Right. You do need to be the one to tell Erestor.”

\----

Faelion took the stage for the second act. He was stunningly dressed in blues and white, with a headdress that looked like seafoam. Across the stage, it looked as if there were waves, made from the bolts of fabric that the extras in the play were holding and drawing either up or down, the movements and the color of the fabric making it look like water. Faelion's range was extraordinary, from a very deep bass to a mellow tenor and even some notes that would make a few ellyth jealous to hear. Faelion's movements were slow and deliberate as he sang the song of the sea, and mesmerized the audience.

Each of his songs was followed by a few songs and perhaps a dance number from the extras, who were supposed to be that particular Vala's escort of maiar. For the Ulmo portion, these were elves dressed as sea creatures and as the embodiments of water. Some of them danced through the aisles of the audience at one point as well. It was captivating to watch the performers use the entirety of the theatre for the second half of the play.

The first portion of the play was the creation story, but the second told stories of each of the Lords of the Valar - all of them played by Faelion. After each section, a new Vala would be introduced. The changes were not simply just in costume, for Faelion came on stage in completely different makeup each time, and sometimes he had wigs that were very elaborate as well.

The song about Manwe was light and airy, and it was obvious that Faelion took extra care with this portion to do the best he could to remember all of the words and movements. His footwork was very precise, and at times included leaps and flips that made Fingon nod or whisper to Glorfindel how difficult something was. Every move was perfectly executed, obviously practiced over and over again well before the play was in production. "He was a gymnast," realized Fingon during the second intermission. He and Glorfindel were back outdoors. Glorfindel was loosening his collar and breathing shakily.

"Not in Gondolin," said Glorfindel.

"No, maybe not there, but he was a gymnast. I bet they told him he was too tall. I got shit for that," he explained. "I was often told that I was going to hit my head on the bars or something so they would have me compete in rings and floor exercises where I could do far less damage to myself. I did compete all around, but only when i was younger. Near the end of my career it was expected that those who were going to compete would only be this high." He demonstrated by raising a hand to his side, below his own height. "I am sure that they told him the same, but he said fuck it and left. Want to know why?" he pressed when Glorfindel did not respond.

"Sure. Why." Glorfindel rubbed his head as the inevitable answer was given. Leave it to Fingon to miss the cue that it was not something he really cared to discuss. Not only were librarians tenacious, but once they had information, they were almost compelled to share it. Until now, Glorfindel did not think there could be a librarian who was more of a librarian than Erestor was. Fingon did an excellent job of proving him wrong.

"He has no control on his height. They would have taught him that eventually. He is much closer to being an acrobat than a gymnast at this point. Great form, though, he just needs to bring it back a little. The problem with going too high is that he could come down hard and hurt himself. See, when we are little, we concentrate more on getting all the way up, and landing on our feet, and not whether we have everything exactly in place or are perfectly situated on the mat or onto the pile of cushions when we land. That comes later. The science behind it has to be understood first. He probably left, and was used to pushing himself without fear, without remembering that someone was always there to spot him as a child." Fingon studied Glorfindel's face. "You do not look well."

"I might just go home now," he said suddenly.

"Alright. I can come with you." Fingon hopped off of the bench and followed after Glorfindel as he began to walk down the path away from the theatre.

"No, you should stay and watch the rest of it."

Fingon shrugged. "I can always go to another play if I want to see him later."

Glorfindel sighed. He stopped in the middle of the road, his back to the theatre. "I have to let him go."

"If you say so."

"What choice have I?" Glorfindel looked to Fingon.

Fingon chewed his bottom lip, looked a little guilty, and offered his advice. "Leave Erestor."

Glorfindel clutched at his stomach and shook his head. "I could never do that," he hissed. "Leave him? Do you know how long I have been with him? Do you know how long it took us to get to this point?"

"Do you know how long I was with Maedhros? Longer than I was with you. I mean, longer than Erestor was with you. Sorry, I get flustered when I argue," muttered Fingon as he blushed a little. He motioned Glorfindel off to the side of the road with him as a carriage came down the road and rang a bell to alert them of its passing. "I see firsthand what is going on in your relationship. You want to know something I have seen? He abused you. Not physically, but not all abuse and scars can be seen. Maybe not as bad as Maedhros did to me, but he is a right asshole at times, Glorfindel. Last night - that scared the shit out of me - but that is not the only thing. He argues with you, he goes out without telling you where, and I get the feeling he just expects you to be there for him when he needs you - and I think last night, you finally gave him an ultimatum he probably needed to hear, because I cannot believe that was the first time you found him using that stuff. I like Erestor, most of the time. He probably could... turn things around, but shit, he is set in his ways on some things, and he has to be the one to come to that conclusion. And he has to be the one who wants to change."

"He is changing," defended Glorfindel fiercely. "He is much different than he used to be. He went through a lot in his life."

A call came from the theatre that the final act was starting. "Do you want to go back or do you want to go home?" asked Fingon.

Glorfindel shuffled his feet before he kicked at the ground. "I want to see him. The end of the play. I think I owe it to him to stay, even if he does not know I am here or who I am."

Fingon nodded and offered an arm to Glorfindel. The blond shook his head, but he did thread his arm through after Fingon insistently nudged him and pushed him in the direction of the door. 

\----

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a really special treat for you tonight,” announced the conductor. “Some of you are aware of just how talented young mister Faelion is, and how extraordinary it is that we have someone so youthful of his caliber of performer. We invite you to stay now as he performs his audition for the Haven School of the Arts. I hope it will not delay anyone with reservations for their dinner plans,” apologized the conductor, and his words were met with light laughter and much applause.

Faelion bounded back onto the stage and waved his arm over his head at those in the audience. Applause erupted for him, and he bowed several times before he padded over to the side of the stage and crouched down at the orchestra pit for a moment. After giving them some direction as to his intentions, he stood up again and walked to the back. He was wearing all black, but the curtains were pulled back and instead of blending in with the dark curtain in the back, he was obvious to everyone on the white curtain that was now revealed.

From the backstage, Finrod stepped out and waved to people as he received applause as well. “Welcome and thank you for staying. As was already stated, Faelion is a very special dancer. And singer. And actor. We are so very proud to have him joining us at the school. We knew that when he told us that he wanted to take this opportunity, it was something he had to do. This is one of the most prestigious theatres in the whole of Valinor. We also knew that it was in his heart to join us at the school, and we decided to do everything we could to make that happen. Without further delay, please, enjoy this special encore, and Faelion’s last performance.”

When the audience buzzed, Faelion stepped forward and announced, “In order to begin with the incoming class, I have made the decision to retire from this production. I assure you, my understudy is more than suitable. I shall miss you all. Please, consider this my gift to you, my dearest admirers,” he said, and he was greeted with applause before he began.

Glorfindel turned his head to look at Fingon. “He is leaving,” he said numbly. As everyone else clapped their hands around him, Glorfindel looked as if he was about to cry. “I will probably never see him again.”

“Stop looking at me, then,” advised Fingon. “Watch the stage. Watch him.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You already know my feelings. He is your blood; I am not going to say a word unless you concur,” said Duilin.

The carriage ride from the theatre to the house they were staying in was a difficult one. Faelion began by sharing his excitement about the school. This was silenced once Salgant pointed out that the three were in agreement that Faelion would wait to go to Tirion. When they arrived at the house, Faelion abruptly left for a walk with the dog. This gave Salgant and Duilin time to confer on the events that evening.

“I was unaware of the correspondence he has had with Finrod,” said Salgant. “I did not expect that little stunt tonight.”

“Imagine - one of your relatives doing something dramatic,” answered Duilin drolly. “Salgant, you were the one who put the idea into his head in the first place. He was accepted, you were ecstatic, and then you had second thoughts. You are still having second thoughts. If you do not want to tell him anything, let him go to the school. It will be easier that way. If you do not want him to go to the school, you need a damned good reason why not, and the truth is as good a reason as any.”

Salgant worried his hands and sat down on the couch. “He is going to hate me.”

“He is intelligent. He is going to understand.”

“And then he is going to leave and seek out Glorfindel.” Salgant shook his head at Duilin. “This is what you wanted from the start. You have always held a grudge about what happened in Gondolin. You would love to see Faelion break apart Erestor and Glorfindel.”

“I certainly thought little of Erestor then, and I think little of him now. If Faelion manages that, he will only be speeding up something inevitable,” said Duilin. “I think Faelion deserves a chance. It is your decision.”

“Fine.” Salgant sighed. “We can tell him. You need to start, though - and be gentle! Do not blurt it all out at once.”

Duilin sighed as well, but his was a release of years of waiting. “Thank you. I am going to put water on for tea,” he decided. Salgant nodded, but stayed where he was and waited for Faelion to return.

An hour later, Faelion entered. The dog bounded in after him and leaped onto the couch beside Salgant. “Faelion?” Salgant gave Faelion a solemn look when his nephew peeked into the room. “Faelion, your uncle and I wish to speak with you about a most urgent matter.”

Faelion glanced between the two of them. “This sounds like something serious. Can I go and change first? I really want to be comfortable if you are going to tell me that someone was killed or something like that.” When Salgant and Duilin exchanged wide-eyed looks, Faelion cringed. “I did not mean... oh... oh! Sweet Eru, did someone actually die? It was that man from last night,” he guessed.

“No one actually died - well, someone did die, just not last night,” said Salgant. “The man you helped is fine.”

“Unfortunately,” muttered Duilin.

“What we do need to talk about is serious,” said Salgant.

“Alright,” said Faelion, “but I want to be comfortable for this. Can I at least take off my pants? These are bad enough on stage, but I just took a run with the dog and regret it. Besides, when we start to talk about serious things, it usually ends with the sun coming up, so I am just going to take these off now,” he decided. Before either uncle could protest, Faelion wiggled out of the tight leggings and slung them over his shoulder. 

As Faelion began to leave the room, Duilin stood up. “Make it quick,” he advised. “We do need to talk tonight.”

“Forget it, then. No pants night.” Faelion came back around to the couch and dropped down next to Salgant. “Before we talk about anything else - the man from last night. Did he die or not? Because if he did and you are not telling me, I will be so upset. If he did die, I will be devastated. That was technically my first patient.”

“No, he did not die - they would have told us tonight if he had,” said Duilin. “Trust me on that. This has nothing to do with him.”

“Yes, it does,” muttered Salgant.

“I was thinking about stopping to check on him. I almost did, but I was worried he died from the way you were both acting on the way home.” Faelion paced the room in the small space he had. “He seemed in bad shape and his family seemed very distraught. Furthermore, I never had a chance to find out any of their names, and I would at least like to know who I was aiding last night.”

“Faelion, we understand,” said Salgant. “Please, sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”

Faelion dropped down on the couch, still pantsless. “Alright. But if this has to do with the school, I really want to go. I mean, I will have a finite number of opportunities for it,” he said, already raising his voice as if it was an argument. “I worked really hard, and I am not throwing away my occupation. I know it can be difficult to get into a theatre company, really I do. However, it is even harder to get into that school, and I think Finrod was really great to let me in late like this. He came all this way to interview me here and let me audition special. How can I not go at this point?”

“Faelion, this has nothing to do with the school.” Duilin picked up a throw from the chair and tossed it to Faelion. “Cover up, I can see your balls.”

After he spread the blanket over his lap, Faelion leaned forward. “Is it because of something I did wrong today? I thought I performed perfectly. In fact, I have never had that many ovations.”

“No. This is not about that house we went to last night, or your career or schooling.” Duilin kept glancing at Salgant, not sure exactly how much he was supposed to say, and how much Salgant planned to take responsibility for. He did not have to wait too long.

“This is about someone dying,” said Salgant.

“You said my patient did not die!” shouted Faelion.

“Not him. You.”

Faelion gripped the arm of the sofa. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Language, young man,” scolded Duilin, while Salgant waved his hands when he realized how he had made his statement. Duilin turned to his lover and actually pushed him on the shoulder. “What the fuck was that?”

“Sorry! It just came out!”

Faelion stood up. “I need some pants for this. I can feel it.” He walked out of the room before he circled back around, still without pants. “This is because of what happened the other night. Do I know them?”

“Know them?”

“They know me. I saw two of them in the audience tonight, and one of them… one of them was so familiar.” Faelion stomped his foot when Salgant began to worry his hands again and Duilin rubbed his face. “Dammit, I do know them somehow!”

“We are getting to that. Please, just calm down a little, Faelion,” begged Salgant. “Yes. You know them. They know you. We all knew each other.”

“How long ago was this? I am one of ‘those’ people, right? One of those people who got killed and then got brought back?” Faelion walked out again in search of pants. He came back without any, and opted to wear the throw around his waist instead. “Did I do horrible things?”

“No. You were actually a decent person. You were probably the best of all of us,” recognized Salgant. 

Faelion pointed an accusing finger. “Are you really my uncle?”

“Of-of-of course!” Salgant stuttered. 

“And you were still stuck with me back then,” added Duilin. “The difference is with other things. And where we are now. We did not always live here in Valinor.”

Faelion was trembling now. “How long was I dead?”

“Faelion, please, let us explain one thing at a—“

“How long,” he shouted, “was I dead?!”

Duilin sucked in a breath of air.

“Centuries?” Faelion looked between them. “A millennia?”

“Ages,” countered Duilin.

Faelion swooned, but grabbed hold of the wall and kept from falling down. “Ages? Ages.” He looked away and drew his tongue along his teeth. “Ages.” He blinked away his tears. “How do they know me?”

“It is not as simple as you—“

“How!”

Salgant swallowed back his words and looked to Duilin for guidance.

“The blond one. He was your…” Duilin ground his teeth as he decided on the right word.

“Like the two of you?” prodded Faelion.

Duilin began to nod slowly. “He was your husband. When you died.”

Faelion fought to find words as he clung to the wall. He trembled as he felt his arms and legs go numb. He crumbled to the floor, and both Salgant and Duilin came to his aid. It was Salgant who picked him up and took him to the sofa. Duilin piled the small decorative pillows at one end for his head. “What is his name?” asked Faelion when he finally found his voice.

“Glorfindel,” answered Salgant.

Faelion nodded. “I knew I should have demanded you teach me to read. I hear his name sometimes. He was important, I think.”

“Very important,” agreed Duilin.

“Yet you hid him from me.” Faelion sat up slowly. “You hid everything from me.”

Salgant squirmed. “We wanted to protect you! We had to fight to get you back.”

“Fight to get me back? What does that mean?” asked Faelion.

“It means you were still considered a child when you died,” explained Duilin. “You were at your majority for an Elf in Middle-earth, but had you still been in Valinor, you would have been considered a minor. That is how the Valar treated you when you died. Mandos does not take the children into his halls, because they are innocents. His brother takes their souls to his gardens, where they stay forever. When a child is killed, it is considered too frightening to send them back again. They have earned a place to keep their childhood forever, and that is what Irmo gives them.”

“I should remember that, though. Right?” Faelion frowned when his uncles shook their heads. “How did you manage to get me out, then? Did you steal me or something? Catch my soul in a butterfly net?” Faelion was still shaking, and clinging to his uncle’s arm as he spoke.

“We more or less had to plead our case and prove that you were not an innocent. Once we did that, we had to wait for judgement. The Valar decided that you would be allowed out, to be reborn, but you would not be allowed to regain your memories. They thought it was cruel to place that burden upon you,” said Salgant. “I was trying to respect that.”

“And I think it is a greater injustice to keep you from those memories,” explained Duilin.

“That makes two of us,” agreed Faelion. He rubbed one arm with his hand. “Really cold,” he apologized, and Duilin brought another throw to place over him. “Is that why Glorfindel was in the audience today?”

Salgant and Duilin exchanged worried looks. “You have already been through a lot tonight,” said Salgant. “We should talk about the rest of this in the morning.”

“No, I want to talk about this now. Why is it that he is not—“ Faelion stopped. Realization hit him. “The one I went and helped. I thought they were brothers. Well, shit.”

“Right.” Salgant patted Faelion’s hand. “We wanted to save you this pain.”

“Pain? What pain?” Faelion continued to rub his arms and shoulders. “This is anger. I have been away so long he is now with a drug addict, and here I am, unable to recall a damned thing!” Faelion looked up at his uncles. “I want to know everything you can remember. Everything you can recall in the next hour.”

“And after that, will you take time to rest? The hour is late,” said Salgant.

“I will not rest until I see Glorfindel.”


	5. Chapter 5

When the door opened, Faelion was unsure how he would react or even what he was going to say. The moment it was fully open and he saw Glorfindel standing before him, he knew what he wanted to do. There was no memory, no thoughts of anything from the past, but there was some sort of instinct that kicked in. "Glorfindel." He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the blond’s neck. He buried his face against the golden hair and began to weep. "Glorfindel, my love. I know we should be together. I miss being with you! I do not even know how I miss you, but I do. I deeply miss you and need you and I am making such a fool of myself!" he realized and stepped back. He only did so for a moment, for as soon as he took in the beautiful yet confused face, he reached out for him and kissed him hard on the mouth, surprising them both. Faelion pulled back, but kept his hands upon Glorfindel’s shoulders. "Please, I have no idea why I feel this way, but I know that I do. I love you. Please do not leave me again."

In the back of the room, Erestor, still recovering from his recent episode, had been standing and watching. And listening. He waited to see what Glorfindel would do. The book in his hands was clutched in an iron grip. There was a long pause, but then he saw it. Glorfindel reached his hand up and drew his fingers through the dark hair. He fingered it for a moment, then leaned in to return the kiss he had been given. Erestor closed his eyes and looked away. Glorfindel whispered to Faelion sweetly between kisses. "I have missed you so much, my love. For too long we have been parted. Do not leave me, darling, never again. Never, ever again, my sweetling.”

Tears stung Erestor’s eyes and he left the room. He passed Fingon, but said nothing, and kept going until he was in the bedroom. He took a few things from it, threw them into a sack and went back down the stairs. There he found Faelion and Glorfindel still standing in the doorway, still whispering to one another, caressing and kissing the way he and Glorfindel did. ‘The way we used to,’ Erestor reminded himself. 

Without warning or saying a word, Erestor slid out the door, just through the space between Faelion and the doorway. Glorfindel belatedly tried to grab for him, but Erestor was quick and disappeared around the side of the house. For a moment, Glorfindel looked torn between Faelion and Erestor, but he stayed where he was. “Do you… remember nothing?” he asked, though his eyes were looking past, out to see if he would suddenly see Erestor ride away. 

Faelion seemed to have this same thought, and looked over his shoulder. “I remember nothing. Nothing at all.” He turned back. “I just… I was drawn here. I had to come.” He glanced over his shoulder again. “You should go and find him. I… know there is more to this than you and I,” he said carefully.

Glorfindel nodded. His lips brushed against Faelion’s cheek as he exited the house and walked briskly to the stable.

Faelion wrung his hands in the doorway until he heard someone clear their throat. “Good evening. We met the other day, just, not formally.” Fingon held out his hand. “Findekano. I answer to Fingon as well, and really, anything that sounds remotely like it starts with ‘Fin’.”

“Faelion. But I suppose you know that already.” He grasped Fingon’s arm. “Did we know each other?”

“No. You might have known my brother, or my sister, or my niece, but I lived far from where you were living in Middle-earth.” Fingon made his way around Faelion and closed the door. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No. Thank you.” Faelion wrung his hands again. “Perhaps I should go out there.”

Fingon scrutinized Faelion. “Did you want to get punched tonight? Because that would probably be what happens if you go out there.”

“Maybe this was not the best way to approach this situation,” realized Faelion.

“Probably not,” agreed Fingon.

\---

Meanwhile, Glorfindel entered the stable to find Erestor hastily readying one of the horses. “Erestor.” Glorfindel jogged to the stall that Erestor was in and pulled the gate open. “Erestor!” 

He still received no response, not a glance, and so he reached out for Erestor, but Erestor jerked away. "Do not touch me, you bastard!” shouted Erestor at Glorfindel. “How could you do that to me?!”

“What about everything you have done to me?” demanded Glorfindel. “Everything is about you! You want to go to Tirion, and I am expected to follow! You decide to come here, and again, I get uprooted! You never ask what I want!”

“I can clearly see what you want!” Erestor fumbled with the tack before he threw it onto the ground. “Actually, why am I leaving? If you hate being here, you can leave! And take that infantile homewrecking whore with you!”

“Infantile?” Glorfindel snorted. “You are the one stomping around out here, throwing a tantrum. And I would rather spend my time with a homewrecker who has an aspiring career in theatre than a drug addicted failure of an actor who spends his time working in libraries because colleagues pity him.”

“Get the fuck out of here. I am not going to listen to this bullshit you are spewing at me.” Erestor stumbled back to the horse he had been preparing and brought the gelding forward. “Just go. You were only with me because he died. You loved him more than you loved me.”

“Damned right,” spat out Glorfindel.

“Fine. Then go! I release you from… whatever the fuck this is.” Erestor tried to remove his wedding band, but it caught on his knuckle, and he cursed at it.

“Keep it. I certainly do not want it.” Glorfindel considered the saddle and blanket, but opted to mount the horse without gear of any sort and left Erestor alone in the stable.

\---

The door abruptly opened just as Fingon was about to bring Faelion a mug of coffee. “Come. We are leaving,” directed Glorfindel.

“Oh… we… you and I?” questioned Faelion as he handed the mug back to Fingon.

Glorfindel gave a curt nod, and then walked past to reach the bedroom he and Erestor shared. He returned with a satchel much like the one Erestor had left the house with. “Did you ride here?” he asked. Faelion shook his head. “We can walk, then. Fingon, I apologize, but can you take Néri back to his stall? He is out in front. I would, but… probably best if I do not.”

“Of course.” Fingon turned the mug in his hands to get a better grip on it. “Are you… coming back?” 

Glorfindel had his hand on the knob of the door, and Faelion was already on the front stoop. “I… wish I had an answer to that question,” he said. He looked over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Fingon.”

Fingon only gave a nod, and waited until the door was closed to look up at the elf who had silently stepped down the stairway during the discussion. The shadowed figured cleared his throat. “So, he is leaving, and there is a horse on the front lawn. Where is Erestor?”

“In the stable, I think.” Fingon waited until Beleg reached the foot of the stairs to continue. “I think… someone should go out there and find him.“

Beleg took the mug from Fingon and blew across the top of it. “Do you want me to wait up for you?”

“Up to you.”

“Honestly? I am tired, and I have already experienced far more drama than I like.” Beleg took a sip from the mug. "I know what is in your heart, Fin. Go to him."

Fingon kissed Beleg on the brow. “Get some rest. One of us should sleep in case anyone comes to call tomorrow, and I doubt I will be turning in early.”

\---

The walk from the cottage to where Faelion and his uncles were staying went much quicker than expected. Neither Duilin nor Salgant seemed particularly surprised to see Glorfindel when he arrived with Faelion. While Salgant calmed Faelion, who was sure he had made a mess of things, Duilin spoke with Glorfindel outside before sending the blond on a walk to cool his heels.

Duilin reentered the house to find Salgant snacking on a plate of cookies, and Faelion pacing the room. "I want my memories back," stated Faelion when he noticed Duilin. "I do not care if that means that I need to go to Manwe himself and beg for them. I want them back. They have no right to keep them from me.”

Duilin and Salgant exchanged concerned looks. "Maybe there is an easier way," said Duilin. “Something else that we could try first. That is, if you do not mind defying the Valar a bit.”

“We seem to have done much to defy them already, and I think that this is not going to be the last thing i do to defy them.” Faelion stopped in front of Duilin with his arms crossed. “If you have an answer for me, I would like to know what it is, because I am ready right now to go to Tirion or wherever it is they are and make my demands known. I care not that they are the powers - I am getting very impatient of all of this! I am tired of everyone playing with my life! This is my life, not theirs!”

"Peace, Faelion, and hear me out.” Duilin walked to the counter to pour himself a drink. He took a sip before he turned around again. “There is a place that contains all memories. Glorfindel told me about it. He and Erestor have been there many times - I do not know where it is, but I think you would be able to go there with Glorfindel and regain what you have lost. Or really, what has been taken from you."

Faelion narrowed his eyes. "Why did you not tell me about this before?"

"I just spoke with him, O impatient one,” scolded Duilin. “He is not sure if it would work, but you could try.”

"There is another way," offered Salgant. "It would not be quite the same, but it could help."

"What would that be?" asked Faelion with uncertainty.

“We could just offer our memories of the events to you. We can tell you everything we recall,” said Salgant.

“Bits and pieces. There will be things no one recalls, or times I was by myself. I want all of my memories back.”

Duilin sighed. “Someday, you can fill in the blanks by going to the… whatever the place is with the memories. I have no idea what the actual name is or if it has a formal name,” he added. “This would be a start for you. Something you could grasp now, something we could begin tonight.” 

“And I think that Glorfindel, and eventually Erestor, will also allow you to have access to their memories,” said Salgant, but upon the mention of Erestor’s name, Duilin shook his head adamantly, and mouthed to a confused Salgant ‘tell you later’. 

“With all respect, I still feel as if the Valar have overstepped their bounds. I feel like they have stolen from me, and in a way that was far more terrible than what Morgoth did when he stole Feanor’s gems. They stole time from me. They stole love from me. They stole part of my soul from me. This is inexcusable.” Faelion began to pace again. “If they will not see to it that I am recompensed, I will make it known to everyone what they have done. I will not stand for this!”

Duilin poured himself another drink. “He is certainly living up to his namesake this time around,” said Duilin, looking to Salgant.

“If you go to Taniquetil, I will come with you.”

The voice belonged to Glorfindel, who had come in to escape the threat of a sudden storm. He sat down on one of the chairs and rubbed his head. “Someone needs to make it clear that we are not pawns in some game they are playing.”

Salgant brushed the cookie crumbs from his robe. “We can leave in the morning. They must be made aware that this is unacceptable.”

Duilin rubbed his nose and looked between the other three. “You know I will not stay home. Besides, I have a few words I would like to deliver to a few of them myself. Might as well make it a family affair. If you do not mind me joining you, that is.”

Faelion slowed his steps and looked around the room. “Thank you,” he said. He joined Glorfindel on a chair beside him and reached out to take hold of his hand. Glorfindel squeezed Faelion’s hand in return, and Faelion smiled. “Thank you all.”

\---

“So… maybe we should go inside.”

“We are inside.”

“The house.”

“Go ahead.”

Fingon stretched and let out a yawn -- a yawn left unstifled like those that came before. Thunder crashed around the stable and shook the doors, which had been left open when Fingon returned the horse to his stall and found Erestor in a corner on a bale of hay. “You know, if you stay out here, he wins.”

Erestor shrugged.

“I used to do things like this,” said Fingon. “I used to think it somehow was a way to get back at Maedhros. You know who it hurt? Not him,” he continued. “Fuck if he cared.” He paused as the thunder rumbled again. “You know who it did hurt? Me. It kind of fucked me up a little. Alright, a lot. I mean, I was a hermit in a dilapidated theatre,” he recalled, and he flinched as the sky flashed and a particularly loud crash sounded overhead. He yawned again and rubbed his hands over his arms. “The temperature is dropping.”

“You can leave any time.”

“I can. But I am not going to.”

Erestor looked up. “Why torture yourself?”

“Same question, directed at you. My answer -- this is not torture. This is me being supportive,” answered Fingon.

Erestor shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Because I do. I do care about you,” said Fingon. “I pushed my family so far away for so long, one day I suddenly realized, they were all so busy with their own lives that they had no time for me. You and Glorfindel and Beleg are really the only family I have, and while I have far less history and less of a relationship with Glorfindel, to have him walk out tonight still hurt. If it hurt me as much as it did, it hurt you a lot more. So, here I am. If you stay here, I stay here.” The thunder rumbled a reminder above. “I think we should try to make it back to the house before the rain really starts coming down.”

Erestor sniffled and wiped his nose against his sleeve. “Without Glorfindel… I just… what am I going to do?”

“I wish I had an answer for you,” said Fingon. “Coming into the house is a good start, though.” Fingon expected Erestor to shake his head again, so it surprised him when Erestor stood up. “I can heat the coffee, if you prefer not to sleep.”

“I am only going to the house because there is liquor there,” warned Erestor.

“Liquor is good, too.” Fingon led the way to the entrance. “Go on ahead. I can catch up,” he assured Erestor as the wind picked up. Fingon made sure to secure and latch the doors before he sprinted to the house. When he entered, he found that Beleg was still up, and pouring Erestor a generous portion of brandy. “One for me, too,” said Fingon as he stepped out of his boots. He found some throws in another room, and brought one back for himself, and another for Erestor.

“None of us are going to get any sleep with that racket above,” declared Beleg. “I suggested a game of cribbage until the storm subsides.”

“My mind cannot focus on chess right now,” said Erestor apologetically. "Cribbage seemed a mindless sort of alternative."

Fingon lifted his glass and shook his head. “No reason to be sorry for that. If you wanted to play fifty-two pick-up, I would acquiesce simply because you decided to come into the house.”

Erestor glanced at Fingon, to the deck of cards, and back to Fingon.

“Please, no. It was only a--”

Erestor flicked the deck, and most of the cards scattered on the floor. Beleg looked down at them, but made no move to retrieve them.

“Really?” Fingon shook his head back and forth before he stooped down to scoop the cards up into a pile. 

“You did offer.”

Fingon set the fallen cards back onto the table. “At least you still have your sense of humor, dark though it is at times.”


	6. Chapter 6

"Elves are so very interesting."

Faelion opened an eye. At first he thought that Duilin had come into his bedroom, but he realized that made no sense because Duilin was a very private person and would not do something invasive to Faelion. The figure was tall, so it was not his uncle, but the voice was unfamiliar Faelion now realized. He sat up and opened the other eye. It was just about sunrise, and there was a stranger poking around in his room. 

It was also possible he was dreaming. It had been a very draining day. Even so, it took quite a while for him to fall asleep - his uncle had convinced him that it was best for Glorfindel to sleep on the couch. This caused Faelion to toss and turn most of the night in a bed that, while usually comfortable, seemed downright rugged. He pinched his arm - and, no, that hurt, he was truly awake. 

Perhaps if the intruder was shoddily dressed, Faelion might have thought it was a thief - not that a thief in Valinor made much sense. "Can I help you?" he asked the slender figure who was lifting things off of his desk and examining them before setting them back.

"Ah! You are awake!" The figure turned around and set the sash he had been examining back onto the surface. "I believe that you have a request that I may be of some service on."

Faelion blinked a few times and rubbed his head. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked as he quickly checked under his pillow with the other hand and found the dagger there. Thieves were rare, but Duilin had taught him a good number of reasons to be prepared. No one knew when a wild animal might make it in through a window at night, and it was best to be ready. Faelion was not expecting such a large intruder. "And why are you in my room?"

"You called upon me." The stranger approached. "Actually, you called upon some of my friends and family, but none of them seem interested in your situation. Some of them might be, in all honesty, but none of them plan to do anything about it."

Faelion studied the unknown person. "You have to be one of the Valar," he reasoned. "Or a Maia or something."

"Right the first time. Want to guess which one?" The figure tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing Faelion.

"I should think... Orome? He likes Elves."

"He does. He also likes to wander through the mud. Does my outfit look mudproof? Really." The Vala came a little closer. "I think you are trying to reason things out a little much. You were just asleep, so naturally I must be...?" he prodded.

"Irmo?" Faelion frowned. "I suppose I thought you would look different."

"I get that a lot." Irmo stretched and sat down on Faelion's bed. "Now, there seems to be a little issue of some misplaced memories."

"Misplaced? Thank you, I never misplaced them. I had them stolen from me," he grumbled.

"Alright, alright. No need to get belligerent. I was just trying to assess the situation. I think, from my knowledge, I shall say misplaced for now. I do not think anyone had the intention of keeping them from you forever."

"It certainly seemed so, from what my uncles were saying," said Faelion.

Irmo looked away as if he was either deep in thought or listening to something far away. "Yes... yes, well... I think we can do something about this. However, I think you need to be aware of the reasons why memories are not always returned right away."

"I know that some people are very sensitive, but that is not the case with me," Faelion argued.

“There is that,” agreed Irmo. “That was not the case with you. You came to us when you were still a juvenile.”

“Untrue. I had reached my majority,” argued Faelion.

“Yes and no,” explained Irmo. “You were over fifty years of the sun, but you had not yet reached full adulthood. We try to be fair, and perhaps if you had been close we might have overlooked it, but you were far too young. We felt it best to count you among the young. You lived in my woods as a spirit for a very long time.”

“I remember none of that,” said Faelion sadly.

Irmo stepped forward. “I want to help you remember. You have called out to us, and do not think it is fair - and I agree. Sometimes, what we do is not the best choice.”

“I am surprised to hear you say that,” Faelion admitted.

“Why? Because I am a Vala?” Irmo gently laughed. “Ah, but I am not my Father, so I cannot be perfect.” Irmo held out a hand, and hesitantly, Faelion placed his in it. “I will help you, Faelion, but this will not be easy. It will take time, and you must come with me now.”

Faelion blinked. “What about my uncles? What about Glorfindel?”

“You will see them again,” promised Irmo. “This is a personal journey, though. Do you want this?”

“Yes, but… I would hate for them to worry,” said Faelion.

Irmo smiled. “They will not. I spoke with Glorfindel first, and explained to him my intentions. He does not like that I am sending him back home for now, but he understands.”

“Can I say goodbye before we go?” asked Faelion.

But they were already gone.

\- - -

Erestor sat and looked at the small box on his lap. There was enough powder in it to last him for several weeks, had he not been so depressed. With the way things were going, it would be gone by tomorrow. 

Sleep eluded him. He had almost fallen asleep the morning after Glorfindel left with Faelion, but as Fingon convinced him to lie down on the sofa and was unfolding a blanket, the door opened, and in walked Glorfindel. Erestor refused to speak to him that day, as well as the next. While Glorfindel returned to the room they had been sharing, Erestor stayed clear. He spent his time on the sofa, either drinking or staring at the wall, ceiling, or random objects, and sometimes sniffing a bit of the powder from the box.

He lifted up the little pouch and looked inside of it and then set it back into the box. He could hear voices in the next room, and he closed the box and set it aside. As Glorfindel entered the room, he pretended not to notice the box. Erestor pretended not to notice Glorfindel, but greeted Beleg, who nodded on his way through the room. Glorfindel paused a moment to look upon Erestor, but then frowned and followed after Beleg.

“Is he coming back?” asked Erestor just as Glorfindel was about to leave the room. He had only heard bits and pieces of things that Glorfindel told Beleg and Fingon, but one thing was certain - Irmo had come to Faelion, and taken him with him. Erestor would be lying if he said he was not jealous. For a long time, he had felt special to have had Irmo appear to him. Now it seemed like Irmo just showed up whenever he felt like it, as he overheard Glorfindel tell their housemates of a time in Gondolin when Irmo spoke to him.

Glorfindel looked for a moment as if he was going to keep on going without acknowledging Erestor, but he paused and stepped back. “I have no idea.”

"Do you want him to come back?" Erestor still did not look at Glorfindel. The box was in front of him, and it was as if he was talking to it instead of his husband.

"Do you want him to come back?" asked Glorfindel. When there was no answer, Glorfindel started to leave the room again.

Erestor stood up slowly, and the movement caught Glorfindel's attention. "We are going to need to talk about this. Sooner rather than later." He stared down at the floor. "If you want to pursue him, I will not stand in your way. We can just annul the marriage, if that is what you want."

"I never said that I wanted that. I love you. You are an idiot sometimes and so am I, but I still love you," said Glorfindel. “I think you still love me, maybe.”

"I watched how you kissed him." Erestor closed his eyes tight. "No one just kisses like that. You kissed him like you used to kiss me."

Glorfindel licked his lips, but shook his head. "You are overreacting. I was overwhelmed, and yes, I miss him. The last time I saw him, I held him in my arms as he died. It was... it just happened, and I am sorry. I did not want to hurt you. I have never wanted to hurt you."

"He would make you happier than I can." Erestor sat back down and reached for the box. "I doubt you will ever be truly happy with me. I mean, look at me." He opened the small pouch and tapped the contents to one side to inspect them. "I guess I should be surprised you stayed this long."

"Erestor, please." Glorfindel sighed and walked back over. "Erestor, you know you should not use that. Not after what happened the other night."

"What happened the other night is exactly why I need it." He tapped out a bit onto the wooden plate that was in the box and began to portion it out. "I made a little mistake, but I can be more careful."

Glorfindel stood and watched Erestor prepare the powder for a few minutes. As soon as Erestor closed the box and set the plate on top of it, he bowed his head with the intent of snorting it, but Glorfindel had other plans. He suddenly upended the wooden surface, spilling the powder onto the floor. Erestor shot him a look of contempt, but Glorfindel picked up the box. "This is enough of this," he said firmly. "You think that me kissing Faelion is tearing us apart? This fucking box is tearing us apart," he declared as he slammed it onto the floor. The same hinge that broke the other night, mended by Beleg, broke again, and Erestor stared blankly at it. “You got lucky the other night, but one of these times, I am going to walk in and find you too far gone to get help.”

“Maybe that would help you, though,” suggested Erestor. “Marriage is for the living, after all.”

“Is that really what you think of all of this?” Glorfindel shook his head, chin trembling. “Our marriage means so little, you would just throw it away like this?”

“You threw it away when you walked away from it the other night.” Erestor tried to brush the powder that was on the cushion into the palm of his hand. “I am just going to finish what you started.”

A piercing whistle filled the room. “Enough.” Fingon entered with Beleg behind him. “If you are not going to converse like adults, you can sit there and shut up and enjoy the nice weather.” Fingon made himself comfortable on the sofa beside Erestor, while Beleg sat down in a chair in the corner. “You, too,” he directed Glorfindel, and though Glorfindel looked uncertain, he did sit down.

“Fingon and I have been discussing the situation.” Beleg looked to Glorfindel, for Erestor had his head down to avoid eye contact. “There needs to be a change.”

Fingon placed a hand on Erestor’s back. “Do you want us to leave?” He nodded his head in the direction of Beleg. “I feel as if we are intruding.”

Erestor frowned and avoided looking at anyone. “I do not think I should be here,” he replied.

“No. No.” Glorfindel stood up and paced twice in front of them. “No. The four of us have been through a lot. None of us are leaving. Not unless we all agree on it.”

Beleg nodded as Glorfinel spoke. “Right now, I think we need to take a moment to find- to think…” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Dammit. I lose my words at times. Why does Quenya need to be so limiting?”

“We need to breathe,” said Fingon, and Beleg agreed. “I do not think either of you should be with each other right now, but I also think you should not be alone.”

“I thought we could go for a ride,” Beleg offered Glorfindel. “No one checked much on the livestock yesterday, so I thought we could take care of that.”

“And I can stay in here with you,” said Fingon to Erestor. “Maybe we can read or something. Can I have that box?” he casually asked, hand extended.

Erestor looked at Fingon’s hand. He seemed he would argue, but he handed it over. Fingon set it down on the floor to the side of the sofa.

“I could use the air,” said Glorfindel, and he and Beleg left Fingon with Erestor.

“We do not actually have to read,” said Fingon once they were alone. Erestor nodded. “How are you holding up?”

Erestor shrugged, but it did not take long before he sniffled and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “This is just so hard. I know I already lost him. Why bother? There is nothing left for me.” Each sentence was a little less clear, until Erestor was sobbing loudly.

Fingon drew an arm around Erestor and rocked him gently. “You have so much to live for, Erestor, but I know how hard it can be to see it. Getting it out will help.” Fingon held Erestor while Erestor simply cried on his shoulder. When the tremors subsided and Erestor’s body slumped against Fingon, Fingon coaxed Erestor to lie down on the sofa. He pulled the blanket, left on the back of the sofa, over Erestor, and stroked Erestor’s hair, for Erestor’s head rested on his thigh. “I know you do not want to sleep for fear of dreams, but I promise to wake you if nightmares plague your thoughts.”

“He does not love me anymore,” muttered Erestor as he drifted off to sleep. “No one really loves me.”

Fingon took a pillow that rested against the arm of the sofa. Very carefully, he lifted Erestor’s head and slid the pillow underneath before he lowered Erestor’s head back down again. “There are a lot of people who love you,” whispered Fingon. He continued to stroke Erestor’s hair as he slumbered. “I know of one for certain.”


End file.
